


Trick Shot In Time

by MissJeeves



Series: Timely [2]
Category: Justified
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Canon-Typical Violence, Crimes & Criminals, Developing Relationship, Gen, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-14 07:07:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1257364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissJeeves/pseuds/MissJeeves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim tries to get Raylan out of Harlan, so naturally Raylan starts shooting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trick Shot In Time

The U.S. Marshal is the longest and best relationship Raylan’s had with law enforcement in his entire life. Now, Tim is clearly deranged. He had unprotected gay sex with a hooker working for his suspect, on the very day they met. He’s also probably contagious, since Raylan let him, and did it out of view of the cameras, and then _told_ him about the cameras.

But Tim is an attractive kind of deranged.

He hasn’t pulled the typical cop shit of _begging_ Raylan to flip, getting pissed when he won’t, then _threatening_ him, getting more pissed, and ultimately degenerating into listing Raylan’s vast personal failings as if he’s not particularly self-aware of the pigsty of shit constituting his general life. Tim can get rough, but only as much as Raylan likes. And he is an amazing lay.

There is some whining, of course, since Boyd does something new and illegal every week, but Tim stops when Raylan puts his mouth to use.

They can’t use his trailer too often, though. Boyd’s thugs get shifty about him being there, and if Boyd finds out he’s gonna ask for film Raylan can’t produce.

That means going to Tim’s apartment, which Raylan was reluctant about.

He knows, of course, that it is pretty damn risky for the law man to go to the drug-laden brothel with extensive video surveillance for sex. Tim doesn’t say it, but it reads plain as day on his face and the way he scans the room for threats every time.

Raylan feels there’s a similar issue of trust placed on him. He has to leave Harlan, drive to Lexington, enter a cop’s home, and assume there’s no surveillance which would damn well be more sophisticated than a teddy bear cam. This is more burdensome, of course, because it’s on _him_. Tim might be nice for a cop – and ridiculously handsome – but if there’s a feces – fan collision, he’s a federal officer. For better or worse, Raylan’s trailer feels safer.

“We can meet in between,” Tim offers, because he’s a stupid kind of generous.

“In the car?” Raylan asks. “Are we teenagers?”

Harlan prostitutes can still have standards. Raylan doesn’t have to fuck in places that will mess up his back and make him cranky for days.

“Think I was one more recently than you,” Tim says, with wicked intent.

Raylan scowls at him, but listens while Tim ticks off his address and the particulars of navigating the apartment complex.

Tim seems to think Raylan won’t show. He kisses him deeply, sinking into his mouth and thrusting like it’s the last time. So, yeah, Raylan goes.

~

The drive to Lexington is long and dark. Raylan checks for a tail the whole way. He’s not sure who’s he looking for. Boyd doesn’t know about the U.S. Marshal and if this is part of an unusual elaborate law enforcement ploy, they know where he’s going.

Tim’s apartment building is okay for Lexington, which means it’s basically palatial for Harlan. Raylan enjoys the knowledge that he’s about to defile this nice neighborhood with all kinds of solicitation and lewdness charges.

Well, except Tim doesn’t pay him.

Unless Lexington still has old sodomy laws on the books, they’re not doing anything illegal. That’s novel in a way Raylan doesn’t particularly love.

Raylan comes bearing a gift, since he figures that’s the polite thing to do.

It’s a large purple rabbit with comically enormous ears and eyes. He enjoys Tim’s near traumatized reaction, and he’s not offended when Tim snatches it, turns it upside down, and violently decapitates it while avoiding the glassy field of vision.

Tim throws the bunny rabbit head at Raylan’s chest, not amused.

“I think you might have undiagnosed psychopathic tendencies,” Raylan chortles, holding the bunny head that’s dripping white stuffing.

“They’re diagnosed,” Tim tells him. “Are yours?”

“Just A as in asshole,” Raylan says.

“Yeah,” Tim retorts, “That’s why you’re here.”

And then he grabs Raylan by the neck and pulls him inside.

If Raylan had any expectations about a SWAT team waiting for him, they’re destroyed. He’s pretty sure they’re alone in the apartment, when he’s nude and getting wrecked in Tim’s bed.

~

It goes like that for a while. Raylan doesn’t do much at Tim’s place that’s not in the bedroom, or the shower, or on the couch, or the kitchen counter, and also the kitchen floor until Raylan invokes the no back injuries rule.

He puts a lot of mileage on his car, which sucks. He also blatantly lies to Boyd a lot, which is among his favorite things. So it kind of evens out.

Accidentally, Raylan starts sleeping there. Often. Actual sleeping.

This is weird and unsettling.

“You have the shittiest taste in books,” Raylan says, on Saturday morning when Tim is sacked out on the couch wearing way too many clothes and reading one of said books. Judging by the cover, this one is about scantily clad little humans who are glowing for some reason.

All of Tim’s novels are about wizards or witches, sorcery, and lots of magic. Raylan sprained his eyes, rolling them so hard.

“I can get you some picture books,” Tim says, feelings unhurt. “Pop-up? Scratch and sniff?”

“I hate elves,” Raylan tells him, walking over and sitting on the floor with his back against the couch, because Mr. Voracious Reader is taking up the whole damn thing. He’d sit on him, but Tim gets pissy if Raylan damages his precious books. One bent spine, and one torn cover from throwing it across the room and Raylan learned it wasn’t worth it. “I hate elves so much.”

“This one has gay elves,” Tim says, nodding at the book in his hands. But he closes it and rests it on his knee.

“I hate gay elves, too,” Raylan tells him, accepting Tim’s fingers stroking his hair.

“You’d like these,” Tim says, tracing Raylan’s ear and moving down his neck. “They do fun things.”

Raylan licks his lips and makes his most seductive face. He know it looks ridiculous. He doesn’t care. It always works. “What kind of fun things?” he asks, going for petulant.

Tim adjusts on the couch, angling his pelvis so it’s suddenly much closer to Raylan’s face.

Obediently, Raylan reaches up and unhooks the button on Tim’s jeans. He jiggers the zipper, but the fabric is wrinkled and the angle won’t work.

“Seems like you already know,” Tim says. He waits, then laughs. “Having trouble?”

“Need a magic wand,” Raylan mutters, still struggling.

Tim all but doubles over, laughing. “No one’s ever called it that before,” he says, when he can breathe.

Irritably, Raylan withdraws his hand and crosses his arms. “You know, the elves can do the fun things by themselves.”

Tim lovingly put his book safely on the coffee table. He sits up and pulls his own zipper down, lifts his hips and slides the jeans and his boxers down. He takes his dick, pink and ready, in his own hand.

“C’mere,” he says.

“No,” Raylan stays stubbornly on the carpet. “Make me.”

Tim peers down at him. “You want to wrestle with my dick out?”

Raylan pauses. “Is that a euphemism?”

“Maybe.”

Tim reaches down, grabs Raylan by the biceps, and bodily hauls him up onto the couch. Raylan gives him a token show of resistance, because no one younger than him should be strong enough to do that, but he’s also not entirely opposed.

Turns out, Tim doesn’t so much want to wrestle as yank Raylan’s sweats down. Raylan’s not opposed to that either, but still struggles some just because.

They each have a turn holding the other down in variously incorrect submission holds, if Raylan remembers high school wrestling accurately. Then, Tim succeeds in pinning him on his back on the length of the couch, but loses the advantage when he slides over Raylan’s chest and puts his mouth on his dick.

“Cheater,” Raylan says, even as Tim maneuvers so that his pelvis is over Raylan’s face. He pulls Tim’s hips down and starts licking, too.

Tim adjusts Raylan’s legs till they’re bent and open, so he can reach Raylan’s hole. He introduces fingers, slicked only with spit and Raylan’s own leaking dick.

That makes for a terrible distraction and Raylan’s blowjob skills are seriously diminished. He takes Tim’s dick in his mouth and swallows it down, hoping the depth makes up for it.

Tim fucks him with strong, deliberate fingers, and swirls his tongue against Raylan’s slit.

Raylan pulls off of Tim’s dick, because he’s going to come and no one likes an uncontrolled jaw clench during a blowjob.

“Gonna go,” Raylan warns him. Some men have strong opinions about swallowing, but Tim just does the tongue thing again, and that’s all it takes.

Raylan finishes his part of the 69 in a more respectable position. Or more reasonable. Respectable probably isn’t the word for kneeling on the floor of a US Marshal’s apartment so he could suck off the guy sitting on the couch.

Sometimes, Raylan doesn’t like being on his knees, and it is about the respect thing. But Tim doesn’t bring that aspect, so he puts it out of his mind.

Tim doesn’t try to pull out and come on his face, like they’re in a porno. He takes full advantage of Raylan’s well-developed ability to deepthroat, so afterwards there’s not even much clean up.

He does, however, feel a little insulted when Tim starts reaching for his stupid gay elf book while his pants are still down.

Raylan glares and Tim stops. “No reading?” he says. Raylan shakes his head. For a second, Tim looks lost. Then, “Want to go shooting?”

“You think ‘cuz I’m from Harlan County I have to like guns?” Raylan asks, mock offended.

“Yeah,” Tim says, and looks straight at him.

“Do I get to touch your sniper equipment?” Raylan asks, hopefully. He knows there are some rifles in the apartment, probably locked up.

“Not now,” Tim says, pointing at his flaccid dick. Raylan scowls. “And the real stuff, not ever,” he adds.

~

Tim learns at the gun range just how much Raylan likes guns. Or rather, how good he is with them. It’s not a measure of affection.

For some reason, it makes Tim’s face crease with unhappiness. It’s not all marksman jealousy, more like he’s envisioning why Raylan can shoot like that. In an effort to distract him, Raylan decides to start missing.

All the same, the unhappy look stays. They have an awkward, quiet lunch from a drive-thru in Tim’s car. It’s not like they can go to a sit-down place. One of Tim’s colleague’s might see them, or one of Boyd’s buyers.

Raylan thinks he’s not in the mood to have the discussion that’s clearly brewing in Tim’s mind.

“You can just drop me at my car,” he tells Tim as they drive back to Tim’s place. He parks way out from Tim’s building, next to the properties’ maintenance vehicle.

“Why?” Tim asks, not deviating from the route to his assigned parking spot.

Raylan slumps in the seat. “You don’t seem in the mood,” he says.

“I’m in a mood,” Tim retorts. “Come up, okay?”

It’s a request, not an order, and that’s why Raylan obeys. He dislikes that Tim knows to do that to him, though resenting Tim for asking instead of telling is obviously pointless.

Raylan follows Tim upstairs and sits on the couch they defiled earlier.

Tim takes an awkward seat next to him, but he scoots all the way to the last cushion.

“If I got cooties, you already have them, too,” Raylan tells him.

“You ever shoot for Boyd?” Tim asks, not acknowledging the joke.

He waits, while Raylan glares at him. “I thought we didn’t talk about that,” Raylan says, avoiding the question.

“Well this, we have to talk about,” Tim says. “I didn’t know you could do that, like that.” He pulls out a wad of paper targets he must have pocketed at the range, and flips them on to the cushion between them.

Raylan bites the inside of his lip. If he were a smarter man, he’d just leave, because this conversation isn’t going anywhere good.

Tim lets the silence stretch for a little, then goes. “If you have bodies on you,” he says, “I have to know.”

“I’ve had lots of bodies on me,” Raylan says, peevishly. “Remember how we met?”

“Raylan,” Tim says, with exasperation. He stabs at the targets with a finger, the little paper bits from the center shots dancing on the fabric.

“The only shooting I do for Boyd,” Raylan says, deciding to make it as repugnant as possible. “Involves semen.”

Tim makes a noise, but Raylan can’t tell if it’s relief or disgust.

“Okay, then,” he says.

But of course, the conversation isn’t over. Raylan should still leave.

Instead, he watches a series of college football games on Tim’s couch, and Tim sits on the far cushion reading about gay elves. Raylan chucks the shot-out targets while the man is thus engrossed.

The pitch comes at dinner. Take-out Thai, which is a good choice since Raylan will listen to a lot of shit for peanut chicken.

Raylan doesn’t have any bodies on him. All he has is pornographic videos of his storied prostitution career, which won’t earn him a nickel in federal charges. And he could bury Boyd with what he’s learned, just through osmosis. Tim is sure he could get Witsec, relocated out of Harlan. Free of Crowders and Givenses, forever.

It’s a good, well-crafted spiel, and Tim has held it in for a long time. But Raylan can’t even fake receptiveness.

“You could stop sucking gun thug dick,” Tim says, with exasperation.

It’s not nearly as bad as what Raylan’s heard before – namely a combination of gay slurs and the reminder that he’s a whore – but it still stings a little.

“I don’t suck gun thug dick,” Raylan corrects. He shakes his head. “My gun thugs have badges,” he reminds Tim.

Much of Raylan’s time is spent fighting off Boyd’s recent hires, who somehow think proscription from touching the girls means they get a free crack at him. He doesn’t fuck gun thugs.

“How often does Boyd claim _Prima Nocta_?” Tim demands.

Raylan stares at him, half-disbelieving.

“That’s –” Tim begins to explain.

“I know what that is,” Raylan says, coldly. “I saw Braveheart.”

Tim seems a little shocked by his own words, and he fall silent. Raylan eats a couple more bites of his dinner, internally congratulating himself that this hasn’t turned into a knock-out fight in Tim’s pleasant little kitchen.

“I don’t know what’s worse,” Raylan says, after a while. “That you’re calling Boyd a king, or that you think I’m someone’s bride.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Tim defends himself.

“Yeah, it is,” Raylan says. He pauses. “It’s not often, by the way. He has a drug empire to run. And the sister-wife.”

Boyd’s new relationship with Ava has actually been a boon to Raylan. She’s possessive of Boyd’s time and body, and considers Raylan just another part of her stable. He stays out of her way and it works out well. Also, he’s not going to tell Tim, but he helped her clean up the night she shot Bowman and that earned him some good graces.

“It should be never,” Tim says, and all the aggression has gone out of his voice. “Raylan, it should be never.”

That was not the tack Raylan expected. He stares at Tim’s earnest face, across the table.

“Yeah, well,” he says, helplessly.

“We can work something out,” Tim says, slowly, when Raylan doesn’t bite back at him this time. “To get you out.”

“Do you know how many federal agents Boyd owns?” Raylan asks. He doesn’t phrase it the other way, how many of them are on film with him. “How many judges?”

“Do it careful,” Tim says. “Do it smart.”

Raylan shrugs. He almost doesn’t recognize he own voice when he speaks, lowly. “Okay,” he says.

~

Back in Harlan, though, it’s like the weekend never happened. Just agreeing with Tim doesn’t get Raylan out, overnight. Raylan tells himself he said yes so Tim would stop looking so damn sad.

Boyd has something going down. Raylan isn’t sure what, entirely. Most of his thugs are gone and Boyd’s barking into a cellphone. Usually, Raylan makes himself scarce, part of their mutual agreement to leave him out of things. But now, maybe overhearing would be useful. It could help out Tim.

So, Raylan stays in earshot. He settles into a booth and reads about the exciting lives of gay elves, which he stole from Tim’s library.

In the middle of coordinating something to do with heroin, and probably bodies, Boyd gets an unrelated call. He listens for a while, silent.

“Where at?” Boyd says. He looks around the room and starts snapping fingers at the few remaining employees. “On it, Mags.”

“Raylan, saddle up,” Boyd orders.

Putting down the book, Raylan makes a show of searching for a client.

“Who?” he asks, innocently.

Boyd pulls a gun from his waistband. Raylan starts to duck, unsure of how this escalated. He hasn’t even said anything obnoxious, yet.

But, then Boyd turns the barrel around and presents Raylan with the grip.

“I’m understaffed,” he says. “You’re up to bat, no staffs or bats required this time.”

Tentatively, Raylan takes the gun, mostly so Boyd’s not holding it anymore.

“Remember how I don’t –”

“This, you do,” Boyd says, commandingly.

He addresses the other two men who weren’t out on the heroin task, Devil and Jimmy.

“James Earl Dean sell to either of you?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Jimmy says. “But it was just pot, thought that was okay.”

“It is,” Boyd says, dismissively. “He grabbed the kid of one of the Bennetts’ reefer farmers.”

“James Earl Dean,” Raylan checks. He remembers the name from a wanted flyer he’d moved off Tim’s front seat.

“Yeah,” Boyd says. “This is virtuous enough for you, Raylan. He’s a registered sex offender and he has a fourteen year old girl named Loretta.”

Raylan doesn’t argue.

“Her daddy called the feds, too,” Boyd continues. “Mags is going to clean him up, asked that we recover the girl for a generous reward, and it is in my shared interest to have this done before the FBI comes to Harlan.”

It’s the US Marshals who are involved, but Raylan doesn’t say anything.

He sticks the gun in his waistband and follows Devil and Jimmy to the car. Jimmy thinks he knows the route Dean would take out of Harlan.

~

They spot the guy’s car at a gas station, filling up.

Devil and Jimmy, the two geniuses, want to shoot him right there.

Raylan doesn’t see the girl, though.

He politely reminds them about certain explosive properties of gasoline.

“Stay here,” he orders. “You’ll spook him.” They might also shoot up the car and kill the little girl likely in the trunk.

“What are you gonna do, suck his dick?” Jimmy taunts, but Raylan gives him a look and he stays in the car.

Raylan strolls up to the car while the driver is inside paying. He has a quick conversation with Loretta, who is in the trunk and still alive.

Unfortunately, James Earl Dean has Jimmy’s level of knowledge about chemistry. He also doesn’t want to let Loretta go. And he pulls on Raylan.

Raylan’s bullet goes into the man’s head, right above his left eyebrow. There is no ensuing gasoline explosion, so maybe Raylan’s knowledge of chemistry isn’t so great, either.

“Grab the girl,” Devil orders, he and Jimmy out of the car and running over.

Raylan pops the trunk, lifts out the bound little girl.

Devil comes running back from the inside of the gas station, a VHS tape in hand. Raylan sees it, but doesn’t really process much. Jimmy wipes the trunk handle off with his t-shirt, then hustles Raylan back to the car. He fishes Raylan’s gun out of his pants, as he does so.

Loretta is bundled in Raylan’s lap, in the back seat, as Devil speeds off with Jimmy sitting shot gun. She still looks terrified, so Raylan gently takes off her gag.

“You’re safe,” he tells her wide eyes.

“You don’t look like a cop,” she says, body tense against him.

“I’m not,” he admits. “Your daddy sent me.”

“My daddy can’t send people,” she says, wiggling her bound hands.

Raylan looks for something to cut her free. “Well, today he can.”

~

It’s a blur after that. They take Loretta back to Audrey’s, get her untied and cleaned up. Raylan puts himself in charge of this, since he doesn’t trust Jimmy or Devil with a girl her age, honestly.

Boyd looks both surprised and pleased when they walk in with her, and gets on the cell phone.

“What happened to the pervert?” Loretta asks, when she is sitting at the bar drinking a glass of water.

“He’s not going to bother you again,” Raylan promises.

“Because you killed him?”

“I did,” he says.

“Good,” Loretta says. “My daddy coming to get me?”

If Raylan recalls correctly, Mags Bennett has had her daddy killed for calling the cops on Dean. “I think one of the Bennetts,” he says.

What Raylan should do, and he knows it, is call Tim and tell him there’s an endangered, possibly recently sexually assaulted, minor in Boyd’s bar.

But, Raylan can’t get a second alone. Boyd follows him when he leaves Loretta’s side.

“I am impressed,” Boyd tells him, softly. “Wasn’t sure you had it in you.”

“Oh, I can kill perverts,” Raylan says. He resists the urge to say anything more inflammatory. “You sure we shouldn’t take her to the hospital or something?” He means the police, but doesn’t say that.

“She looks fine,” Boyd says. “Mags will take care of her.”

“Yeah,” Raylan says. “Didn’t you say she took care of the daddy?”

“He shouldn’t have called the police,” Boyd retorts. “And she’s paying.” Raylan scowls. “Mags wanted her dead, she would have specified or left her with the pervert.”

“I guess,” Raylan says.

“You want to make yourself scarce before the Bennetts show?” Boyd asks, but it’s basically an order. “I recollect you having a history.”

Raylan glances pointedly at Loretta, sitting alone and scared at the bar.

“I’ll get Ellie May to sit with her,” Boyd decides. “That pass your muster?”

Lacking other options, Raylan can only nod.

“Go to your trailer,” Boyd says. “And don’t worry, I’ll make sure the murder weapon and the video tape of the crime are in a safe place.”

With that, he turns and walks away, leaving Raylan’s stomach to twist and the gravity of the situation to sink in.

~

That night, even though it’s a weekday, Raylan makes the drive to Lexington. He watches for tailing headlights in the mirror, but there’s nothing. He didn’t call, so Tim’s not expecting him. In fact, he’s lucky Tim is even home.

“Hey, Raylan,” Tim says, after opening the door.

Raylan wets his lips, says, “Hey,” but it comes out barely audible.

“Come in,” Tim says, looking alarmed. He shuts the door behind him and pulls the chain. “Everything okay?”

“No.” Raylan goes and sits on the couch, staring straight ahead.

Tim doesn’t join him, standing instead, and hovering over him.

“What the hell happened?” Tim asks.

Raylan doesn’t want to tell him, suddenly. But he drove all the way here. Now, he has to.

“I killed someone,” he says. He hears Tim’s audible inhalation. “He deserved it,” Raylan adds.

“Okay,” Tim says, slowly. He sounds like he believes Raylan, or wants to. “Who was it?”

“No one,” Raylan says, since he’s not going to tell. “But Boyd has the gun and the video.”

The couch dips next to Raylan as Tim takes a seat. But he doesn’t say anything.

Raylan sneaks a glance at his face, sees a mix of bafflement and disappointment.

“Shit,” Tim says.

“Yeah,” Raylan agrees.

Impulsively, he turns and puts his face into Tim’s shoulder. Tim’s arms come up, pulling him into his chest. Raylan could return the embrace, but he keeps his hands at his sides, and just lets Tim hold him.

~the end~


End file.
